
Glass _fc 4^ 

Book ' <S ^ 4-5 "~ 






PREACHED AT THE 



/» 



CHURCH IN BRATTLE STREET, BOSTON, 



DECEMBER 18th. 1808. 



THE LORD'S DAY AFTER THE PUBLICK FUNERAL 



OF HIS EXCELLENCY 



JAMES SULLIVAN, 



fiOVERNOUB OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHt'SETTS- 



BY 
\ 

JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER, 

MINISTER OF THE SOCIETY IN BRATTLE STREET. 



/ 



BOSTON, 

J. BELCHER, PRINTER, STATE STREET. 

1809. 






6<1 ' 
1:45 



TO THE 



WIDOW AND CHILDREN 

OF THE LATE 

<@oberoour i&uUttoan* 

THE FOLLOWING DISCOURSE, 

FRINTED AT THEIR REQUEST, 

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, 

BY THEIR HUMBLE SERVANT, 

J.S. BUCKMINSTER, 



A SERMON, &c. 



ROM. xiv. 1. 

FOR NONE OF US LTVETH TO HIMSELF, AND NO MAN 
DIETH TO HIMSELF. 



Whenever the providence of God, in 
what is called the course of nature, removes 
from the society of mortals one, whom we 
have long known, the chasm, which is thus 
left in the compass of our accustomed 
business, pleasures, or acquaintance, sug- 
gests to every mind, near enough to ob- 
serve it, some of its most serious contem- 
plations. We know, that no creature, from 
the seraph, that stands forever in the light 
of God's countenance, down to the insect, 
that glitters only for an hour, was made 
without purpose, or has lived without ef- 
fect. We know, that, throughout crea- 
tion, there is always some end, beyond the 
mere enjoyment of animal life, which 



6 

every living creature is destined to accom- 
plish ; and we soon find, with relation to 
ourselves, that God has so wisely estab- 
lished the conditions of human happiness, 
that the highest felicity of every individual 
can be attained, only by living for others, 
and losing sight of his own personal grati- 
fication in the general service. In propor- 
tion to the space, which any man fills in 
the eye of the publick, is the circle of his 
obligations carried out ; the more ample 
his gifts, the more extensive should be his 
communications of good ; the more busy 
his life, the more blameless should be his 
engagements ; the longer his period of ac- 
tivity, the more various and remote should 
be his influence ; and the loftier his eleva- 
tion in society, the wider grows the hori- 
zon, which his views of usefulness should 
embrace. The loss of a single mind out 
of the living ranks of rational creatures 
may affect the circumstances of innumera- 
ble beings. The extinction of one poor 
life may reduce, far beyond our estimate, 
the intellectual light of the world ; and if 
any man, however low and narrow his 



7 

compass of action, could even faintly dis- 
cern the most remote and feeble influences 
of his conduct/ in life, as they are propa- 
gated through the whole ran^e of mortal 
existence, he would sink with inexpressible 
humiliation at the feet of God's mercy, 
and cry : overrule, O God, the undiscerned 
influence of my illdesert and inactivity ; 
and, if it be but for an hour, let me not 
have lived in vain ! 

If such then, upon the quenching of the 
faintest liidit of a human understanding, 
would be the meditations of a serious 
mind, which had considered the mutual 
connexion and influences of God's works, 
when a man .leaves the world, whose name 
has been long mentioned with interest, 
whose employments have been numerous, 
whose labours have been indefatigable, 
whose influence has been felt at the re- 
motest border of our community, and 
whose station was at last the most elevated 
they had to bestow ; — when such a place 
is left empty, every serious mind asks with 
profound concern : has he lived for himself 
only, or for others ? 



8 

In the decease of the chief magistrate of 
this commonwealth, God, my friends, has 
blotted out a life of no ordinary rank. 
* That life, which has been so long quiver- 
ing on the point of extinction, has at last 
lost its hold forever. The eye, that saw him, 
sees him no more. The voices, which bless- 
ed him, are henceforth silent ; the prayers, 
which were made for him, ascend no more 
forever. His days are past ; his purposes 
are broken off ; his breath has gone forth ,• in 
that very hour his thoughts perish ; and his 
spirit returns to thee, O God, with whom 
alone it remains to estimate with unerring 
truth, the value of that mind, which thine 
inspiration enkindled, and that activity, 
which thine energy sustained. 

I need not ask for your indulgence, my 
hearers, nor that of the mourning family, 
if, from the words chosen for the text of 



* His Excellency James Sullivan died on the morning 
of the 10th of December, 1808, Mt. 64, after a sickness of 
several months. For many weeks before he died, he was 
reduced to such extreme weakness, that the publick expect- 
ed every hour to hear his decease announced. He was buri- 
ed with publick military honours, December 16th, 



9 

my discourse, T devote the first portion to 
illustrate the great christian obligation of 
neither living nor dying to ourselves. The 
memory of our late chief magistrate au- 
thorizes this topick ; and still further, the 
selfish and luxurious security of our coun- 
try, the consequence of past prosperity, 
ought to awaken our solicitude, as the 
gathering trials of our times may, ere 
long, call upon us for active, liberal, con- 
scientious, and magnanimous exertions. 
It is time, my friends, to look beyond our- 
selves, and feel the weight of our social 
obligations. 

I. No MAN LIVETH TO HIMSELF. The 

apostle's meaning in this clause cannot be 
mistaken. No man, in any period of his 
life, has a right to consult his own private 
interests, either solely or supremely. '1 he 
reason is assigned in the following verse : 
for whether we live, we live unto the Lord, and 
whether we die, we die unto the L,ord ; whether 
we live therefore or die we are the Lord's — 
that is ; God is the spontaneous bestower 
of man's time, talents, opportunities, and 
9. 



10 

means ; therefore, man remains, at his first, 
and best, and last estate, the property of 
God alone, whose grand purpose he ought 
always to accomplish within his sphere of 
knowledge and of action. This grand 
purpose is the glory of God in the multi- 
plying happiness of creation ; an object, 
which nothing so effectually counteracts, 
as the gross selfinterest and inactivity of 
rational man. Nay more ; God himself, 
if I may be allowed to say it, God, the all- 
embracing and controlling power lives not, 
and cannot live for himself alone ; but his 
unremitted activity is nothing,but the unre- 
mitted agency of almighty power, prompt- 
ed by benevolence, and directed by wisdom 
and truth. 

1 . O that I could write upon your hearts 
with the pen of a diamond this supreme 
law of human nature ! Study the system, 
which you see all around you, of material, 
animal, and rational existence, in its mi- 
nutest, or in its grandest portions. Noth- 
ing you see is insulated ; nothing existing 
for itself alone. Every part of creation 



11 

bears perpetually on some other part, and 
they must subsist together. Indeed, the 
whole universe, as far as we have penetrat- 
ed it, seems to be a mighty and complex 
system of mutual subserviency. Do you 
suppose, that bright sun has been shining 
now six thousand years, to accommodate us 
only ? No : it has warmed into life and 
joy innumerable millions, of which we 
know nothing ; and it moves also to diffuse 
a wider influence, and to hold together the 
unknown globes, and systems of globes, 
which are balanced around it. Descend, as 
low as you can pierce, through the basest 
transformations of matter, living and life- 
less, and you find every thing has its use, 
and accomplishes its purpose. The very 
refuse, which man casts out and loathes, 
returns in all the beauty of vegetation, 
and brings him sustenance and gladness. 
The barren waste of ocean itself is the 
great medium of benevolent communica- 
tion ; its recesses teem with life, and its 
waters purify themselves by perpetual mo- 
tion. Even the eternal ices of the poles 
are continually melting to supply the waste 



12 

of fluid, and accommodate the wants of 
other regions. Beneficent activity is the 
primary law of creation ; and inactive use- 
lessness the eternal crime of human nature. 

2. Again : no man tiveth to himself be- 
cause it is utterly irreconcileable with the 
spirit of Christianity ; for it is the gospel, 
and the gospel alone, which makes it an 
indispensable law to evi-ry christian, to be 
Wiling to sacrifice. Ins highest terrestrial 
good, when God demands it for the benefit 
of others. For as Jesus is true, a man, 
who makes this sacrifice, cannot ultimately 
lose so much, as a hair of his head. If you 
doubt this look at the life of the Author 
and Finisher of our faith, which is at once 
the law and the example of his religion. 
It is the history of the most patient, won- 
derful, immeasurable sacrifices, which any 
being could make for the good of the 
worthless and ungrateful. If you except 
that prayer, which was extorted by exces- 
sive anguish Father, if it be possible, let this 
cup unss from me, the idea of self seems not 
for a moment to have held possession of 



13 

his thoughts. It appears to have been as 
foreign to them, as the idea of guilt. He 
live<i in the hopes and fears, the pleasures 
and pains of others ; swallowed up in the 
future good of the race of men. It was for 
you, christians, he eat, and drank, and 
rested, and slept, and prayed, and retired, 
and wept, and suffered, and died. Not 
a breath escaped him, which did not bear 
on it a wish of good will for the wot Id, 
that he came to save. This is the great 
law of Christianity, and Jesus fulfilled it. 
He is the first and worthiest example of the 
spirit and recompense of the gospel. For 
were all his sacrifices to no purpose ? Was 
his the philanthropy of a fanatick, or a 
cosmopolite, rewarded only by its own en- 
thusiasm? No, christians : we believe, that 
the grave did not, and could not imprison 
such a spirit. The tomb could not for- 
ever shut up a soul, which had never been 
shut up within its own little sphere. It 
soon burst the bands, and dispersed the 
terrours of death. God could not suffer 
such a life to be lost ; but zve see this same 
Jesus, who was made a little lower than the an- 



14 

gels, for the suffering of death crowned with 
glory and zvith' honour. Wherefore God hath 
highly exalted him, and givtn him a name above 
every name, that at the name of Jesus every 
knee should bozo, and every tongue coif ess liim 
Lord, to the glory of G;d the Father ; for all 
live unto him. Such, my friends, was the 
first and destined reward of benevolence 
under the christian dispensation ; and as 
Christ has risen, and as God is faithful, 
this soil, now full of mouldering remains, 
shall not hold forever insensible one pure, 
active, benevolent spirit, as long as the 
world shall endure. 

3. Again : no man liveth to himself be- 
cause no such man can be happy. It is 
an eternal and immutable law of God, that 
the direct pursuit of our own interest 
should infa'libly defeat itself. Then only 
do we enjoy the full measure of satisfac- 
tion, of which our natures are here sus- 
ceptible, when self is forgotten, and our 
faculties are all actively engaged in the 
generous pursuit of some worthy and be- 
nevolent object. — Where, my hearers, do 



15 

vou find most of the wretchedness of the 
world ? Confess to me, it is not among 
the poor, the busy, the laborious ; but 
among those, who, left without any thing 
to stimulate their exertions, have sunk into 
the selfish and sensual enjoyment of them- 
selves. Where do you find most of the 
irritation, dissatisfaction, fretfulness, and 
painful anxiety in the world ? Is it not 
among those, whose wants are all supplied, 
except those indefinite desires, which fix 
on nothing ? Is it not among those, whose 
time is perpetually thrown back upon their 
hands ; men, who have not the resolution, 
nor the inclination to employ themselves ; 
men, whose. lives are frittered away in ex- 
pedients to kill time, without a wish to 
gratify, or a pursuit to engage them, which 
does not bring with it doubt, or remorse ? 
The prospect of the hours, which are to 
come, oppresses them with anticipated evils, 
and the ghosts of the days, which have de- 
parted unimproved, rise to haunt their 
unoccupied fancies. Pursuit, and not at- 
tainmtnt, is the law of human happiness. 
God has irrevocably determined that man 



w 

r 

to be unhappy, who sits down only to en- 
joy ; and still further has he provided, 
that we shall find our highest satisfactions, 
only when we most completely forget our- 
selves in the pursuit. The man, who has 
been living only for himself, wonders that he 
is not happy ; while the blissful and benefi- 
cent God looks down, and compassionates 
the shortsighted selfishness of mortals. 

If such then is the great law of nature , 
and of Christianity, that no mem livetli to 
himself, I call on you, whom God has dis- 
tinguished with talents, whom he has pros- 
pered with good fortune, whom he has 
crowned with honours, whom he has eleva- 
ted to stations of activity and trust, — I call 
on you for unrelaxed and generous exer- 
tions. The more extended is your influ- 
ence, the more intimately do you depend 
upon others, and the more solemn are your 
obligations. The more various or exalted 
are your enjoyments, the more are your 
wants multiplied, and the demands of soci- 
ety increase in return. Have ye ever 
thought, ye rich and great, have ye ever 



17 

thought how brief is the whole life of man 
and how much shorter is the period of his 
activity ? Have you ever subtracted the 
days of helpless infancy ; the years of 
childhood, when you lived on the care of 
others ; the period of youth, in which you 
did little for others, or yourselves ; one 
third of life always sunk in sleep ; as much 
more consumed in the indulgences of ap- 
petite ; and an indefinite length lost in ab- 
solute inaction ; and do you know what is 
left ? A very few months or years, per- 
haps, in which you have lived for the 
highest purpose of your being. — And how 
long do you think the period of vigour and 
exertion will last ? Have you calculated 
the future waste of sickness, the palsying 
influence of pain ? Have you thought of 
the inroads of old age ; the days when you 
will live only to burden, and not to benefit 
society ? O you, who are now in the vigour 
of health and usefulness, consider, I be- 
seech you, that, of threescore years and 
ten, you may not have ten, pei haps you 
may not have one more, to give to society 
and to God. And will this discharge your 

3 



18 

incalculable obligations ? One year, to gain 
a title to the blessing of future generations, 
and the glory of eternity ! — If this is the 
treasury of human merits, then, indeed, 
pride was not made for man ! 

II. No MAN DIETH TO HIMSELF. This 

is a proposition, which most men hear with 
more surprise and reluctance than the for- 
mer. They have accustomed themselves 
to look forward to death, only as the ter- 
mination of life. They regard it simply as 
an event, which dissolves their connexion 
with the world ; and which, as it closes 
forever the common inlets of suffering and 
enjoyment, effaces, at the same moment, 
their obligations and their powers. They 
flatter themselves, that they have nothing 
to do in that last a :d dreaded hour, but to 
compose their limbs for the- moment of 
dissolution, and, with quiet insensibility, 
submit to be extinguished. But, I again 
repeat, not only is it appointed unto all men 
once to die ; but, as the apostle says, no man 
dieth to himself. 



19 

1. Because, in the first place, of all the 
changes, to which our nature is subjected 
by the ordinance of God, this is that, 
which is least within our power. No man 
hath power over the spirit, to retain the spirit, 
in the day of death. We have neither influ- 
ence to retard, nor right to accelerate this 
consummation. It is an event, which the 
most sordid creature finds it impossible to 
convert to his purposes of selfinterest. 
Then, if ever, the commission, which God 
has granted us of life, is thrown up into his 
omnipotent hand. Then, if ever, we are 
not our own ; but God remains the only, 
and uncontrouled sovereign of the human 
soul, and it is for him alone to say, that it 
shall live again. Every thins is annihi- 
lated, but the consciousness that we are 
God's, with whom rests the destination of 
the living principle. For when the frame 
of clay is failing, and our last connexions 
with the external world are in a moment 
to be rent asunder, with whom is man left, 
but with his God ? 

2. Again : no man dieth to himself) because 
most of the attachments, satisfactions, ob- 



20 

ligations, habits, hopes, and fears, which 
have hitherto constituted that complex ob- 
ject, we call ourseif, are dissevered by this 
last and greatest transition, arid, if we 
should continue to exist, we can hardly be 
said ?o live for the same self, to which we 
have hitherto been attached. The act of 
expiring seems to leave the soul nothing 
of all, which before engrossed it, but its 
moial bias, and its God. Our habitual 
anxieties for health and support, our con- 
cern for those who remain last and nearest 
to us, our favourite pursuits and daily du- 
ties, our apprehensions and expectations 
from the world, and all the petty passions 
and prejudices, which have so long interest- 
ed and agitated the mortal dwelling in 
flesh, are on the point of vanishing, like 
the spectres and visions of a midnight 
dream, and man wakes a new creature, in 
the morning of an unknown region, and 
an eternal day. As that last crisis ap- 
proaches, the care of the surrounding at- 
tendants diminishes ; the anxious expres- 
sion of the observers grows less distinct ; 
the half-audible lamentations of our friends 



21 

die away upon the ear to return no more ; 
the pageantry of the sick chamber evan- 
ishes, with all the show and circumstance 
of life ; and God, God alone remains the 
all-engrossing object of the soul's new per- 
ception. — No man dietli to himself, for death 
leaves him not a moment to himself ; but 
he is ushered into the nearer presence of 
his God, around whose throne the din of 
this nether world can no longer be distin- 
guished, and the former idea of self interest 
is lost in a throng of more intellectual con- 
ceptions. Surely in this last hour, on 
which so much is suspended, self is the 
most empty of words, and God the most 
momentous. For this consummation, the 
longest life is but a previous ceremony ; 
let the soul find herself then communing 
only with the omnipresent Spirit. 

3. Again : no man dieth to himself, be- 
cause, as soon as the interest of the inhabi- 
tants of this world is terminated by our 
death, the interest of a new world of spir- 
itual beings is awakened. For we are 
hastening to add to the life and joy of 
heaven, or to enhance and propagate the 



U2 

miseries of hell. The world, in which we 
have been living, was not more interested 
in our natural birth, than is the future 
world in our transition by death. We are 
encouraged to believe, that the spirits, which 
minister to the heirs of salvatv n, wait to see us 
die in peace; and we may indulge the hope, 
that joy is heard in heaven on the reception 
of a pure spirit to the region of everlasting 
life. No man, then, dieth to himself; tor 
the consequences of his dissolution reach 
even to the throne of God ; and swell the 
triumphs of the saints, or the terrours of 
the realm of darkness. 

4. Lastly : no man dieth to himself, be- 
cause no event, in the lives of most men, 
has a more extensive influence upon others. 
There is in almost every one an inexpressi- 
ble curiosity to see how another dies. Let 
us all remember, that we can give but one 
example of it ; and a fault, committed in 
the hour of our departure, is not to be re- 
trieved. 

When we press around a dying creature, 
watching the last changes of his counten- 



23 

ance, and the last accents of his voice, 
vainJy hoping to gain some insight into 
that dark event, and curious to learn 
something of what it is to die, let us se- 
riously consider, that no man dieth to 
himself. Far be it from me to intimate, 
that the manner of our death is a test of 
the character, or an atonement for the 
faults of our lives ; but every good man 
would wish to have it said of him, that 
*' nothing in life became him like the leav- 
ing it." For the tongue will tell its last 
story without equivocation. The features 
will often retain the final and unalterable 
impress of the spirit, as it rushes forth to 
meet its God. It is possible, then, by 
God's blessing, to leave with the world the 
features of our religion. Remember, that 
everv good man, dying in his bed, is cloth- 
ed with something of the authority of God. 
The language of the dving has something 
of the solemnity of a voice from the region 
of spirits. In the presence of the expiring, 
too, every heart is tender, every ear is 
listening, every breast is anxious, every 
noise is still ; and men wait to receive from 



24 

the lips of the departing a last message of 
God, which may not be repeated* Our 
words, my friends, may then reach some 
heart, which never before was touched. It 
may believe us, when we tell it, how the 
objects of mortal pursuit appear to us, as 
they are retiring in the twilight of life, 
when the lisjht dawns from beyond the 
grave. After many of the events of our 
history are lost in forgetfulness, some may 
remember how we died ; and it must be to 
a christian an inexpressible consolation to 
hope, that his last breath shall not be lost ; 
that even the composure ot his countenance 
shall not be seen in vain ; that he shall 
teach his family and friends a more inter- 
esting lesson by his death, than by any 
single action of his life ; in a word, that in 
his death, Jesus will have gained more than 
one conquest, and death have lost a tri- 
umph. Let me die the death of the righteous, 
and let my lust end be like his ! 



You have no doubt observed, my hear- 
ers, in the topick which I have chosen, 



23 

and the manner in which I have treated it. 
occasional recollections of our departed 
chief magistrate. He lives now only in 
our remembrance ; and I can hold up to 
you the history only, and not the man. 
The tomb has closed upon his excellences 
and his imperfections. He has gone to ap- 
pear before God, and his character only 
accompanies him ! I stand not here to 
praise the dead, or flatter the living. I 
only pay the debt of private friendship and 
publick expectation, in what I shall now 
say of the life and character of Governour 
Sullivan. 

* God, who disposes the lot of the un- 
distinguished, as well as of the eminent, 
marked him out in an obscure region, to 
accomplish, by his indefatigable employ- 
ments, purposes, important in a young 
community. The history of his life would 

* Governour Sullivan was born at Berwick in the Dis- 
trict of Maine, on the 22d of April 1744. His father, a man 
of liberal education, came from Ireland to this country and 
settled at Berwick about the year 1723. He took the sole 
charge of the education of his son James, and lived to witness 
his rapid elevation. He died at the age of 105 years. 

i 



26 



be the history of a mind, which no exer- 
tion wearied, and no obstacle permanently 
checked. We should see in him a man, 
rising above all the impediments of for- 
tune, and the default of a regular educa- 
tion, to fill successively the most busy and 
responsible trusts, where the greatest exer- 
tions of mind were demanded. We should 
discern his faculties expanding themselves, 
as his sphere in life enlarged, and growing 
more versatile, as his opportunities multi- 
plied ; leaving, in every part of his course, 
traces of a powerful and original mind. 
Had it not been for one of those unfore- 
seen misfortunes, on which the after-series 
of the most important lives sometimes de- 
pends, Governour Sullivan, instead of 
leaving a professional reputation, would 
have lived, perhaps, to be remembered 
only by his courage, and an iron constitu- 
tion. But the fracture of a limb in his 
early years, saved him from the hardships 
of a military life, to which he was destined, 
and gave him to his country for a singular 
example of the eternal superiority of mind 
over matter. 



This is not the place to detail to you 
minutely the progress of his elevation, from 
the time, when he first drew the observa- 
tion of his country. Every step is marked 
with labour and with vigour ; with increas- 
ing confidence in the publick, and with 
unabated zeal and activity in the man. 
There is hardly a station of trust, of toil, 
or of dignity in the commonwealth, where 
his name does not appear, though, now, 
only as a part of former records ; and, in 
the regions of science and literature, where 
we should least expect them, we find the 
most frequent traces of his efforts, and of 
his indefatigable industry.* Two years 
only of his life, after he once became a 



* The following is a list of some of the principal works of 
Governour Sullivan. 

History of the District of Maine, 8vo. 1795. 

History of Land Titles in Massachusetts, 8vo. 1801. 

Dissertation on the Constitutional Liberty of the Press 
in the United States. 1801. 

Dissertation on the Suability of the States. 

The Path to Riches, or Dissertation on Banks. 1792. 

History of the Penobscott Indians, in Hist. Coll. vol. ix. 

His fugitive pieces, and occasional communications to 
*he p\ibfick prints, were very numerous. 



28 

publick man, seem to have been left him 
for private employments. He was almost 
forty years the incessant servant of the 
publick ; passing through the responsible 
offices of a Judge of the Maritime, Probate, 
and Superiour Courts ; of a Representa- 
tive in the Provincial Congress, and in the 
State Convention ; of Commiisioner for his 
own State, and Agent for the United States; 
of Publick Prosecutor ; President of more 
than one learned and charitable institu- 
tion ; projector and member of others ; 
till he sat down in that station, which, if 
most honourable, he did not suffer to be 
the most easy, the chief magistracy of this 
Commonwealth.* You, who remember 



* The following extract from an " obituary communica- 
tion," which appeared in the Palladium of December 1 6th, 
1808, gives the dates of many of these offices. — " Governour 
Sullivan was admitted to the bar at 21 years of age — and 
before the dissolution of the colonial government, was ap- 
pointed King's attorney for the county in which he resided. 
On the approach of the revolution, which established the 
independence of this nation, he took an early, active, and de- 
cided part on the side of his country. — Being, in the year 
1775, a Member of the Provincial Congress assembled at 
Watertown, he was, together with the late Hon. W. Spooneb 



29 

the various offices, which he has filled ; 
who know the prodigious labour attached 
to some of them, and the satisfaction, 
which his exertions have given, will ac- 
knowledge with me, that God raised him 
up to encourage the vigourous application 
of our powers to purposes of publick utility. 
His voice, if it could now be heard, would 



and I. Foster, entrusted with a difficult commission to 
Ticonderoga and Crown Point, for the execution of which, 
that Assembly manifested their satisfaction by a publick 
vote of thanks, to the Commissioners. 

" He was in the same year (1775) appointed Judge of the 
court of admiralty, erected for the counties in the District of 
Maine ; but never entered on the duties of his office, having 
been appointed early in the following year a Judge of the Su- 
periour Court. 

" After the adoption of our present State Constitution, to 
the formation of which he contributed, as a member of the 
convention which presented it to the people, he continued a 
Judge of the Supreme Judicial Court until February, 1782, 
when he resigned it, and with a spirit of honourable indepen- 
dence returned to the practice of the bar. In 1783, he was 
chosen by the General Court a Delegate to represent the 
State of Massachusetts in Congress ; and in the ensuing year 
served with the late Judge Lowell, and the present Chief 
Justice of the commonwealth, as a Commissioner in the settle- 
ment of the controversy then existing between the States of 
Massachusetts and New York, concerning their respective 



30 

call on every young man, to repair without 
fainting the disadvantages of birth and 
education, to disdain the discouragements 
of poverty, and the decay of years, of 
health, and of fortune, and to live for 
others : for the service of our fellow crea- 
tures is the service of God ; and never did 
he yet suffer a service to be lost. 



claims to the western lands. He was repeatedly chosen to 
represent the town of Boston in the legislature — in 1787, 
was a member of the Executive Council — the same year, 
Judge of Probate for the unty of Suffolk ; and in 1790, At- 
torney General, in which office he continued until June, 
1807, when he was called to the chief magistracy of the 
commonwealth. In 1796, he was appointed by President 
Washington, agent under the fifth article of the British 
treaty for settling the boundaries between the United States 
and the British Provinces. From the University at Cam- 
bridge, he successively received an honorary degree and a 
doctorate of laws. Of the American Academy of Arts and 
Sciences he was one of the members from its first institution ; 
a principal founder, and many years president of the Massa- 
chusetts Historical Society ; President of the Massachusetts 
Congregational Charitable Society ; and a member of the 
Humane Society. — He was the projector of the Middlesex 
Canal, devoted to that object a great portion of time and la- 
bour, and from its first commencement until his decease, 
was President of the Corporation." 



31 

It is grateful to me to turn from the tu- 
mult and occupation of his publick life, to 
see him reposing without an inquietude on 
the bosom of that family, which God al- 
lowed him to rear up to preserve his name, 
and administer to his increasing infirmities. 
It is peculiarly grateful to find, that, after 
discharging with exemplary filial piety the 
duties of a son to an aged parent, whom 
God permitted to hear of almost all his 
honours, except those paid to his lifeless 
remains, he should live to receive from his 
own children a correspondent recompense. 
His name promises to live in his offspring ; 
and all that was excellent in his character 
will be transmitted, I trust, to posterity, 
in their minds, long after the frail remem- 
brance of his person shall have disappear- 
ed. They may learn from him to blend 
the filial piety of a son, the solicitude of a 
father, the fondness of a husband, and the 
generosity of a friend, with the paramount 
duties of a publick character. May it be 
said, without fear of contradiction, as long 
as they live ; this father did not live for 
himself ! 



The portion of his life and character, 
which I have been permitted most inti- 
mately to observe, it is my peculiar duty 
and satisfaction to record. His mind, if 
I may be allowed the comparison, was like 
a native forest, which had never been en- 
tirely cleared, or carefully divided ; where 
the light gained admission at every open- 
ing, and not through any regular avenue ; 
where the growth was rapid and thick, and 
though occasionally irregular, yet always 
strong ; where new seeds were successively 
shooting up, and the materials never seem- 
ed likely to be exhausted. I know, that 
men of original thinking, whose minds are 
at all of a philosophical cast, are tempted, 
especially when deprived of the discipline 
of regular education, to speculate too cu- 
riously on the subject of Christianity, and 
to indulge the conceits of a barren scepti- 
cism. But, to the honour of our departed 
chief magistrate I mention it, his faith was 
never wrested from him by subtlety, nor 
thrown away, to pursue, with more free- 
dom, purposes of interest or passion. His 
early profession of Christianity, his attach- 



33 

ment to its ministers, his connexion with 
several of its churches, and his interest in 
a rising family came in aid of one another, 
and of religion in his mind. And when his 
frame was evidently shattered, his compass 
of ability contracting, the honours of his 
station fading away in his sight, and he had 
reason to think, that God was calling him 
to his great account, the faith of Jesus was 
ever gaining new ascendancy in his views. 
Here death could gain no triumphs, as he 
advanced ; for so familiar had been his 
belief, that when his mind could grasp no 
other subject, theological ideas seemed en- 
tirely at his command ; and I can appeal 
to his family, and my own conversations 
with him during his sickness, that he seem- 
ed as familiar with death as with life. His 
thoughts expatiated with singular clearness 
on the scenes, which awaited him, on the 
mercy of his God, his own unworthiness, 
and the worth of his Redeemer. I shall 
not be misunderstood in saying, that he 
seemed, during his last weeks of decay, to 
be making frequent excursions into eter- 
nity, and to bring back with him instruct 



34 

tion for his friends, and hope and quiet 

for his own spirit. 1 cannot forbear to 

add, that his religion, which had been so 
fixed in his understanding, sometimes dis- 
covered itself in devotional exercises of ex- 
traordinary emotion. Those, who have 
been with him in times of severe trial, 
know, that if he had passions, they were 
not all given to the world. God has seen 
him at the foot of his throne, pouring out 
both the joy, and the anguish of his feel- 
ings. His domestick devotions, as well as 
private prayers, have reached, I hope, the 
ear of mercy — may God have accepted 
them ; and may they be the last of his 
services, which shall be forgotten ! 

It cannot be supposed, that a life so va- 
rious, so busy, and so much exposed to 
publick and private scrutiny, should es- 
cape without animadversion. But, what- 
ever opinions may have been entertained 
of his publick character, by those, who 
differed in important maxims of political 
conduct, the salutary effect of many of 
his labours will, 1 think, hardly be dis- 



65 

puted : the. poor often found him an un- 
recompensed advocate, the distressed a 
willing benefactor, the clergy an active 
and hospitable patron, and the publick 
a servant, continually engaged in some 
project of utility, who has at last left be- 
hind him only the small remains of a for- 
tune, which, in many other hands, would 
have been greatly accumulated. lie died 
at a period, when his enfeebled powers of 
publick service were most industriously em- 
ployed ; and in a station, where he had 
never lost sight of that hopeless conciliation 
of parties, with which he ventured to flat- 
ter himself and his friends. The extreme 
placability of his temper will not be denied 
by those, who have been brought into the 
most frequent collision with him ; and it 
must be acknowledged, that he endeavour- 
ed to mitigate the asperity of our dissen- 
tions, and offered a resistance, not always 
ineffectual, to the violence of party. — 
His family and friends have reason to bless 
God, that, as his life was prolonged, the 
hostility of his opponents was in a great 



36 

degree disarmed : and perhaps, at no period 
of his publick career would the wishes for his 
continuance have been more general or fer- 
vent, than at the moment, when God chose 
to take him from the world, and transfer 
our empty honours from the living to the 

dead. 1 look round, and the place,which 

knew him, knows him no more ! In this 
temple, where he worshipped, he is no longer 
seen ! O God, may he have found a seat 
in the vast congregation of thy people ! 

His afflicted widow, who knew his most 
secret thoughts, and domestick virtues, will 
bear me witness, that I appear nut here, a 
partizan for the ctead. If I have brought 
back the image of her departed husband to 
her thoughts, God knows, I would now 
bring it back, only as a messenger of peace 
and consolation. — And you, dear children ; 
your father's voice cries to you from his 
tomb, live not for yourselves ! The last 
whispers of his breath taught you this les- 
son ; and you have much to do, to supply 
his place in all its activity and influence. 



37 

May God consecrate your talents, your 
means, and your example to the cause of 
truth, probity, peace, and publick happi- 
ness ! Place God continually before you ; 
for he only can completely supply the ab- 
sence of a human father ; and when you 
find the charm of this world's attractions 
sensibly diminishing, do not forget, that 
your father died not for himself, but for 
you, if, instructed by his example, you 
should have the happiness to die in the 
faith of Jesus. 

My hearers, you have come up hither to 
listen to the praises of the dead : I have 
gained my purpose, if you retire with the 
conviction, how empty are the praises of a 
mortal. The ear is deaf, which once heard 
me ; the tongue of the orator is motion- 
less ; the lips cold and rigid on which per- 
suasion hung ; and the hand, which held 
the pen, and bore the sword and staff of 
office, fast clenched in death ! And having 
seen all this, can you go away, and think 
of any thing but God ? Can you forget in 



38 

an instant the inexpressible vanity of this 
world's honours ? They have only dressed 
up another victim for the tomb ! We have 
bestowed upon the departed all, that man 
had to bestow ; the pomp of procession, 
the spectacle of numbers, the solemn knell 
of departed dignity, the noise of military 
honours, the pageant of a funeral, tears, 
prayers, condolence, the decorated coffin, 

the long inviolated tomb; all, all was 

to be found, but he, on whom these hon- 
ours were bestowed ! Every eye and ear 
were sensible to this respect, but his, to 
whom it was paid ! 

— And now the noise of the crowd has 
ceased, the pageantry of office has van- 
ished, and the tomb is still ; is there noth- 
ing left of the loftiest officer of a common- 
wealth ? Nothing, my friends, of all his 
honours, but the services, which he has 
rendered to society. What he did for him- 
self is no longer heard of ; what he did for 
others only can embalm him. The Gov- 
ernour is forgotten, the show of publick 



39 

respect has vanished ; but the least re- 
membrance of real usefulness and piety is 

eternally fresh. Be wise now ye rulers, 

and be instructed, ye judges of the earth ! 
You see what remains of the common 
objects of human ambition ; a publick 
funeral, and a quiet grave I and even these 
are left for your insensible remains. Live 
then for God, and for society while you 
live ; for God and goodness only are 
eternal. 

When I look back upon the successive 
generations of men. and see bow painfully 
they have been climbing to the heights of 
temporal grandeur ; when I examine the 
empty decorations of mortal greatness, 
and observe the little brief authority, the 
panting ambition, the pitiable pride, the 
wreaths withered as soon as plucked, and 
the grave opening under the very chair of 
supreme authority, I am ready to cry, God 
have mercy upon the great, and forgive the 
pride of shortlived man, in that hour when 
the naked spirit shall stand trembling in 



40 

thy presence, and it is no longer remem- 
bered, whether it expired on a scaffold, or 
on a throne ! 

I think, when you have been standing 
around the open tombs of the eminent, you 
must have asked yourselves, is this dust of 
their coffins all that remains, of the dignity 
we remember ? In such moments, surely 
you cannot have found the gospel as bar- 
ren of all truth and consolation, as the 
splendour you have witnessed is barren of 
all real satisfaction. You cannot have 
turned your eyes away from the glory, 
which breaks from the region beyond the 
grave, to let them rest again on the shad- 
ows, the retreating shadows of this unsub- 
stantial world. — Oh no ! hearers, friends, 
mourners, christians let me call you ! If, 
when you surrounded the grave of the de- 
parted, a ray reached your mind from the 
seat of eternal day, O let it never be extin- 
guished ! For the day is coming, and every 
eye shall see it, when they, that are in their 
graves, shall hear the voice of the Son of God 



41 

and shall come forth ; they that have done good, 
to the resurrection of life, and they that have 
done evil, to the resurrection of damnation. And 
I saw the dead small and great stand before 
God; and I heard a voice, saying unto me, 
write : Blessed are the dead, that die in the 

A 

Lord ! for they rest from their labours, and 
their works do follow them. Amen. 



THE END. 



